Childhood memories
by mintythefox
Summary: I know he's not there and it was all just imagination. But some childish part of me is still screaming to check. Maybe he was real after all. Oneshot, told from an OC's POV. NO ROMANCE!


My bare feet crunch on the icy snow and I shiver, pulling the blue hoodie I wear even tighter around myself- although it does nothing to warm my shivering body. I have only walked barefoot in snow once before: a dare with my younger brothers, and even then I only stayed in the snow for a minute at the most before running back onto the damp (but considerably warmer) grass. My brothers lasted a bit longer and even went a far as taking their T-shirts off and lying down on the half-melted patch of snow that we'd found.

But even they hadn't managed as long as he had.

That's why I'm doing this; for him. Because I want to see, I _have_ to see, I just have to know if I was right or not. I want to know for real that my mind wasn't tricking me on those bright winter days.

That's what they were though: bright and wild and free- just like I remember him being. I always loved the snow days as a little girl (well, little-er than I am now), I loved how I was free from school, I loved how bright and white and beautiful the frozen world looked, I loved how everything just seemed to stop when the snow came down and everything boring got put off. But most of all, I remember the fun. The snowball fights, the snowmen, the snowangels.

Laughing, shouting, playing.

Wild and free.

The soft breeze tugs gently at my hair as I walk and I am reminded of another time. My hair wasn't like this then, no, it was messy and greasy, half-frozen and trying to fight its way out of the woolly hat it had been shoved under. I wear no hat tonight though, so my hair tumbles down my shoulders freely and the wind makes it flutter like a long, brown flag.

His hair wasn't brown, I remember that. It was white. As white as the snow he played in, barefoot and all.

That's why I'm barefoot now, in case you're wondering.

I also remember his eyes: bright and playful. They were blue, a beautiful, vibrant blue, like the colour of a deep lake or a cloudless sky. They were the same colour as his hoodie, well nearly. I definitely remember that about his because I was thinking_ how can anyone wear just a hoodie in the freezing snow but not get cold_. I'm sure he must of at least been a bit cold though, because I remember there being frost on his hoodie, decorating it with swirls of white and silver.

I'm wearing a blue hoodie now, too, the only one I could find in the entire house. It's not the same shade of blue that his was and there are no mesmerising frost patterns on it yet but it's the closest I could find.

My younger self didn't pay any attention to what colour his trousers were so I'm just wearing my black school ones and hoping for the best. They're now soaked in snow almost all the way up to the knee and my feet are beyond frozen in the ice.

I don't know why I'm doing this. It's crazy, I know that. I should turn back and go home; go and get myself warmed up- teenagers don't do this, teenagers don't have imaginary friends. But, at the same time that almost all of me is screaming to go back home, one tiny, childish part of me is whispering for me to keep going.

Funny how that bit sounds louder.

It's curiosity, I suppose, that's making me trudge onwards. Curiosity burning inside me like the world's warmest fire, blocking out the snow's chill. I don't care how stupid and ridiculous and childish it is. I want to find out. I _have _to find out.

It wasn't my imagination. He was real. I'm sure of it.

_But, even so,_ part of my mind argues,_ he's not going to be here, you know that, don't you? there's no reason he would be._

I take another step forwards. I don't care.

Suddenly I stop and look around. My feet have brought me to a frozen lake in the woods on the edge of town. It's cold and dark and quiet. So,_ so_ quiet and empty. But still not silent, not here.

My ears are filled with the sound of my own harsh breathing as I look about, feet numb and fingers frozen, waiting. Waiting for him.

Then I hear it.

Footsteps, padding softly across the frozen water, ensuring it won't crack and plunged the owner of them into the icy depths. They say it happened to a boy who used to live here hundreds of years ago, and he died. They say his body was never found.

"Are you looking for me?"

The words are quietly spoken, softly, almost carefully- like he's afraid of scaring me away.

Slowly, I turn to face the owner of the footsteps.

He is exactly as I remember him- right up to the last detail: the white hair, the blue eyes, bare feet and a hoodie. He has a staff too, also decorated with frost. I stare at him in shock. He's real! I was right, he's really real! But then a sudden thought hits me: who exactly is_ he_?

It takes a moment for my mouth to finally work; it feels like my tongue has frozen in the chilled air, until I finally get the words out between my chattering teeth,

"I-i k-know you," I stammer, "I've s-s-seen you b-before,"

An electric grin suddenly lights up his face. A beautiful, wonderful, hopeful grin. It makes me want to smile too.

"You... you have?" It's like he barely dares to believe what I'm saying.

I nod shakily before asking my question, the question which burned so brightly in my memories that it brought me here in the snow and the cold. The question I need an answer to.

"W-who are y-you?"

The smile on his pale faces gets even bigger. Two words whisper into my ears, carried gently by the wind.

"Jack Frost"

And then he's gone again.

* * *

**AN: So... any opinions or ideas of how I could maybe improve it a bit?**

**Thanks for reading it,**

** I don't own Rise of the Guardians, this is purely for my and other people's entertainment.**


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